


O is for ONLY you that I do

by Feelforfaith



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feelforfaith/pseuds/Feelforfaith
Summary: "Loki." Thor stretches to his full height and crosses his arms on his chest, intent on making his voice express his disapproval. "You shouldn't be here.""I agree, I should not be here. But, brother, who's going to tell me to leave? You?"One raised eyebrow and a maddening quirk of his lips—why can't Thor ever ignore what Loki's mouth is doing?—leave no doubt what Loki thinks about that possibility.





	O is for ONLY you that I do

Thor senses it the moment he pushes the door to his suite in the Avengers Tower open and enters—an almost imperceptible change as if the air particles are vibrating faster, shimmering with anticipation. It's not an unfamiliar sensation, and it echoes through him like a whisper of a touch. His fingers curl into loose fists to stop the tingling spreading across his palms. Nothing is out of place, but the rules of Midgardian physics have been defied.

Like a scent that fills his lungs, he follows the invisible trail into the bedroom and stops in the doorway. Of course.

In his bedroom, on top of the neatly smoothed sheets trimmed in red and gold, Loki is lounging with his back against the headboard, his hair scattered over his shoulders, one knee bent, boot on top of the covers as if the bed belongs to him.

A fluttery feeling sets in Thor's stomach.

Loki raises the glass he's holding. "Hello, brother." 

He takes a sip, watching Thor over the rim of the glass as if trying to gauge his reaction. 

Thor makes his damn best not to give him the satisfaction, but his gaze snatches on Loki's lips when Loki's tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth.

An open bottle of—he squints trying to read the label—a vintage red wine sits on the bedside table, together with another glass. 

"Loki." He stretches to his full height and crosses his arms on his chest, intent on making his voice express his disapproval. "You shouldn't be here."

"I agree, I should not be here. But, brother, who's going to tell me to leave? You?" 

One raised eyebrow and a maddening quirk of his lips—why can't Thor ever ignore what Loki's mouth is doing?—leave no doubt what Loki thinks about that possibility.

Thor swallows hard and tries to redirect his thoughts somewhere other than Loki's mouth; he almost succeeds. Only now he's looking at the elegant line of Loki's neck where it disappears in between the folds of his unbuttoned collar. 

He takes a step closer to the bed. "Last time you promised me it would be the last time."

"Did I? I don't recall." Loki pats the bed next to him. "Sit here."

"I don't think so."

"Mighty Thor is afraid?"

Heat rolls through Thor's belly, like denial and want wrapped together into a convenient ball. "Why would I be afraid?"

"Exactly." Loki smiles—there's that enchanting mouth doing _things_ to Thor—and leans over to pour wine into the other glass. "I have a surprise for you." He offers the drink to Thor. 

Against his better judgment—because he should know better by now than to let himself be lured by promises of Loki's surprises—he unfolds his arms and pads across the room to accept the glass.

Loki pats the bed twice again, and Thor sits, distracted by the sharp aroma of the wine hitting his nostrils.

"Cheers." Loki clinks their glasses together.

Thor swirls the wine in his glass before taking a sip. The wine has a deep, fruity and spicy flavor, which reminds Thor of Asgard wines. It's also surprisingly strong, warming his throat with a tinge of nostalgia on its way down. 

"You stole Tony's wine again," he says, a statement rather than a question. 

"Technically, I didn't steal it."

Thor cocks his head. "So what, you borrowed it? Do you plan on giving it back?" 

He takes another sip and savors the rich taste. Given how much he enjoys said wine, his attempt to scold Loki does not sound very convincing. 

Loki runs his index finger along the rim of the glass, and Thor's gaze follows it, mesmerized. Loki's long, slim fingers hold the glass gracefully as if they were meant to wrap around—

"Well, all right." Loki taps a manicured fingernail against the glass and takes another sip, tipping his head back. "Technically, I did steal it, but Tony won't mind."

A hint of a collar bone shows from between the open sides of Loki's tunic, and it draws Thor's gaze again like a _Start Here_ sign pointing the way. This is not a direction he intends to follow. 

For all the luxurious softness of his bed, the particular spot he is sitting in is not comfortable at all. He shifts, which brings him closer to Loki, and, yes, that's much better. 

"Oh, believe me, he minded the last time." A memory flashes through his head of Tony storming into the communal kitchen and announcing to the team gathered around breakfast that if he caught whoever had been raiding his wine collection, he would "personally rip their head off and feed the corpse to wild wolves." Thor's not sure if there are any wild animals around these parts—he should ask JARVIS when he gets a chance. "That's why he upgraded the security system in his wine cellar." 

"You have no faith in me, brother. I'm not a fool—I disguised myself," Loki says around a smile curling the corners of his lips. 

And Thor is intimately familiar with that smile—it's the smile that in their childhood and way into their teenage years would always herald somebody else taking the blame for Loki's mischief. 

He narrows his eyes. "Disguised as ... who?"

"As you."

Panic claws at Thor's belly like a winged beast. "Loki!"

"Calm down, it was a joke." Loki rolls his eyes, which Thor finds infuriating and enticing in equal measures. "If Tony checks his security recordings, he will find Captain Rogers entering his wine cellar."

"Why do you want to get Steve into trouble?" Thor's unhelpful mind supplies the image of a headless body of Captain America. 

"He won't get into trouble." At Thor's dubious expression, Loki leans over to set his glass on the nightstand. "Because your holier-than-thou Captain and Tony Stark fornicate regularly, and judging from the sounds they make, it's to the full satisfaction of both parties." 

"And how would you know that?"

"I might have stumbled upon them once ... or twice." Loki lifts his chin and proceeds to examine his fingernails. "It was quite enjoyable to watch. Not to mention, arousing." His voice drops lower and takes on a breathy quality that Thor does not like at all. "Captain Rogers is extremely well-endowed."

Thor's guts coil into a tight spiral, and he has to unclench his teeth as he gulps down the rest of his wine. He's _this_ close to throwing Loki out for showing here uninvited and ... and ... 

His thoughts stumble on the part he is mad at Loki about, but then Loki leans back against the pillows, stretches his arms along the top of the bed and nudges Thor's thigh with the tip of his boot. 

"Rub my feet?" 

"No." 

With a determined _thud,_ Thor sets the empty glass next to Loki's on the nightstand and crosses his arms. He's not watching Loki's mouth shape itself into a hint of a pout. Because that mouth is bad news, and he's not falling for it. Again.

While he is busy not watching Loki's mouth, Loki's foot finds its way into his lap, and the heel of his boot settles between Thor's thighs, not quite touching him where Thor wants to be touched but close enough—a promise, rather than the deed—and it sends prickly sparks of want through him. He digs his fingers into his arms and fights the urge to adjust himself in his jeans.

"Please?" Loki's tongue sneaks out of his mouth and licks the corner of his mouth. 

Not that Thor is watching. "I said, no." 

His right hand loses the grip on his left arm and drops into his lap, where it runs into Loki's ankle wrapped in the soft leather of the boot, and a heartbeat later, his fingers stroke up Loki's calf. He blames the exquisite craftsmanship of the boot for the fact that his fingers seem to cling to the buttery soft leather, like pieces of paper drawn to amber. 

"It's just a foot rub." Loki presses his foot a little harder into Thor's lap. "Not like I'm asking you to rip my clothes off and have your way with me." His voice drops almost to a whisper. "My feet have been in those boots all day, and they are sore. And your hands are so big and strong, and so good at foot rubs ..."

A breath rushes out of Thor. "Your flattery doesn't work on me, Loki." His hand grips the boot while his thumb moves to the top buckle.

The buckle pops open almost without Thor touching it at all. His heart skips a bit. His fingers move on to the next buckle. 

Loki's lashes flutter, and a hint of a satisfied smile stretches the corners of his mouth. "Such strong hands ... You do have the best hands in the Nine Realms."

Another buckle falls open under Thor's competent hands. "Loki, we shouldn't be doing this." 

"No, of course, we shouldn't." Loki wiggles his foot in Thor's lap, sliding the heel of the boot up and down Thor's hard length. "This is so very—" He lets out a breathy moan that sends shivers through Thor. "—very wrong."

Thor groans and shifts to spread his legs wider. His hands unhook the last buckle without looking at it, and he slips his fingers between the soft leather of the boot and Loki's calf. 

A whispered "Oh ..." escapes Loki's mouth, like a surprised exhale. His features, usually so guarded and controlled, soften and open up in an invitation.

Thor takes off the boot and freezes. 

Loki's toenails are painted blue. Not just any blue. Not a baby blue, or a midnight blue, not the blue of Steve's uniform. No. It's an electric, neon blue that can summon the lightning. A blue that _is_ the lightning. 

Loki wiggles his toes. "Do you like them?" 

Thor stares, warmth flaring in his chest. He trails his thumb along the instep of Loki's foot. These seductive, bewitching toes, they are flirting with him, making him want to drop to his knees and _worship_. Which he's not going to do, because he still has some self-control left.

He slips his fingers between Loki's toes, rubbing and pressing between each one. "I love them." 

He hears his own voice—gruff and delighted at the same time as if it's somebody else answering Loki's question because he didn't mean to answer in the affirmative.

"I thought you might. When I was painting them, I was thinking about you." 

The last two words are a low whisper, and Thor has to close his eyes against the onslaught of want that sweeps through him, tugging at his nerve endings, inviting him to surrender. But he can resist it. He is stronger than that. 

He rubs Loki's whole foot, dips his fingers between the toes, encircles them, drags them along the sole with long, steady strokes. His hands draw a slow moan out of Loki that drives a spike of heat through his guts. One hand tightens its grip on Loki's foot while he presses harder along its arch and rubs little circles there with the other. This way, Loki can't get away from him.

"Thor?"

He draws in a deep breath and blinks. Loki's lips are parted and shining. 

"Yes, brother?"

"Would you like to see the other one?"

Thor knows how this works: one thing leads to another, and then another, and—and he absolutely does not want to see Loki's other foot.

Except that he really, really does. He wants it like burning. 

He reaches for the other boot. The buckles are undone in a blink of an eye, and he slides the boot off. And _oh_ ... the nails are green—sparkling emerald green, shiny and smooth and irresistible. He brushes the pads of his fingers over them and his mouth waters. His t-shirt pulls tight against his body like it's too small and can't contain all of him.

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable without your shirt?" Loki says, concern pouring over the words like milk and honey.

Thor tears his gaze away from Loki's toes.

Loki is watching him from under his eyelashes, biting on his lower lip. 

There's a single thought somewhere in the depths of Thor's mind which insists that taking his shirt off is not a good idea. Thor furrows his brows and tries to follow that thought like a string through the labyrinth of his mind, but it vanishes, and he cannot fathom why taking his shirt off would be a bad idea. It is an excellent idea. It's the best idea he's had all week. 

Loki's smile is so sweet, Thor can't help but grin back at him. And Loki has already taken off his own leather tunic. All these layers of leather must be hot. 

Loki leans forward and rests his hand on Thor's knee, his skin warm through the fabric of Thor's jeans. "You were going to take your shirt off?"

"The shirt, right." Reluctantly, he lets go of Loki's foot and bends down to unbuckle his own boots then kicks them off one by one and stands. He yanks his t-shirt over his head and flings it into the corner. Loki is right—this is much more comfortable. It's so warm in here.

Loki nods as if agreeing with Thor about the room temperature. His gaze lingers on Thor's naked chest. 

"You know, you might as well take your pants off, while you are at it." 

Thor's hands are on the zipper of his jeans in two seconds—because what Loki said makes sense—and in another two, his jeans and boxers follow his t-shirt into the corner. 

Loki raises a perfect eyebrow, and Thor feels his appraising look like a touch of fingertips skimming his naked skin.

"You look exquisite." Loki offers his hand, palm up, inviting. "Have you been working out more than usual?" 

And Thor has, indeed, and Loki's words make him want to strut around the room like a peacock. He takes Loki's hand, and the bed dips under his one knee, then the other as he climbs up and straddles Loki's thighs. "You noticed?" He can't keep a smile away from his face.

"I did." Loki trails his fingers from Thor's collarbone, down his chest, to his abdomen, and Thor groans from somewhere deep inside him. 

He squeezes Loki's thighs with his own. The leather felt so good under his fingers when he was touching Loki's boots, but now it's in the way of him getting his hands on Loki's skin.

As if reading his mind, Loki fumbles with the buttons of his trousers. "Would you mind giving me a hand with these? All these fastenings are so complicated." 

He hooks a thumb into the waistband of his trousers, revealing a sliver of skin while he strokes his lower lip with the index finger of his other hand.

Mesmerized, Thor follows the finger on its journey from one corner of Loki's mouth—wet, shiny, red, meant to be kissed—to the other, while his hands unfasten Loki's trousers. 

He is skilled at unfastening Loki's clothes—he is, after all, well familiar with how all the buckles and buttons work by now, could undo them with his eyes closed, has, in fact, undone them with his eyes closed. 

There.

"Off?" Loki says, wriggling against the bed.

"Off." Thor slides both hands under Loki and lifts him, then tugs none too gently on the trousers. Definitely _off!_

Loki laughs, kicking at the bunched up leather, and Thor flings Loki's trousers across the room. 

All that skin, smooth like silk and flawless and _his,_ and he can't keep his hands off. He trails his fingers along Loki's calf, to his knee, up his thighs and revels in the way Loki arches under his touch, like there's longing hiding under his skin, and Thor is coaxing it to reveal itself and lie bare for him.

Loki's fingers tangle in Thor's hair and pull him closer until his mouth touches Thor's. Thor licks against Loki's lips, teases them open with his tongue and slips inside. 

He shoves one knee between Loki's thighs, then the other, and Loki opens his legs for him. Thor settles between them, his body pinning Loki to the bed, braces his forearms on both sides of Loki's chest and lets himself be defeated by the green of Loki's eyes, while Loki's heels push into the small of his back, holding him in place. 

Neither of them can escape now.

Thor kisses a path from Loki's collarbone up his neck; the familiar scent of sun-warmed grass and caramel spreads through his veins like a drug. "Why does this always happen?" 

"Why does what always happen?" Loki turns his head, exposing his neck. His breath quickens. "Yes, right ... there." 

"Why do I always end up between your legs with no clothes on?" Thor dips his tongue into the hollow of Loki's throat and tastes a hint of salt on his skin. His mouth descends on Loki's neck again and sucks into it a bruise in the shape of thunder.

Loki shoves his fingers into Thor's hair and cradles the back of his head. "Is this a rhetorical question?" He drags Thor's mouth to his. "Or do you actually expect me to come up with an answer?"

Thor does not get a chance to clarify because Loki's mouth makes words impossible. His mind is sailing off into that comfortable place where rational thinking is more of an afterthought—feasible, but optional. 

"Promise me, Loki, this is absolutely the last time." He breathes the words against Loki's mouth as his defenses crumble and fall.

"I promise." 

His body molds itself to Loki's knowing exactly what to do and how, like it's all part of some cosmic plan set into motion eons ago that comes to fruition every time he slides into Loki, and he doesn't question it anymore but moves together with Loki, moves in the rhythm of soft moans falling from Loki's lips, growing louder and more breathless with every thrust like he is devouring oxygen from Loki's lungs. They sound like magic spells, like incantations, and Thor kisses them off Loki's lips eagerly.

Loki scrapes his fingers along Thor's back, gasping when his nails catch on the skin, and takes possession of every inch of Thor like Thor is his for the taking. 

Thor shudders and spills hot inside Loki, and Loki pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around him, and Thor doesn't think why, or how, or why not, but lets the sinewy angles of Loki's body and the sharp scent of his sweat surround him and keep him safe.

His eyes close on their own, and the rhythmical rise and fall of Loki's chest under his cheek makes the time blur—it could be minutes, it could be hours. He could be dozing off. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, the scent of Loki's skin makes him think of home.

Leaning his head on his elbow, he takes some of his weight off Loki and looks up. He catches Loki's eyes on him, open wide and still greedy as if what they have shared was not enough, possessive, and loving—not something Loki allows him to see often and warmth floods his chest.

With his legs still wrapped around Thor's thighs, Loki stretches his arms. 

"I do love our clandestine engagements. It's thrilling to think you might get caught." He leans over the edge of the bed and empties the rest of the wine into one of the glasses. "More wine?" He takes a sip and passes the glass to Thor. 

Thor knocks it back in one go and makes himself comfortable between Loki's legs, his back to Loki's chest. 

Loki wraps an arm around him again, his legs entwined with Thor's, and scratches Thor's head with his fingernails, and Thor leans into the caress shamelessly. If he keeps doing that, Thor might start purring.

He traces his fingers down Loki's arm. He knows the answer, but he still asks. "Do you have to go back?"

"Yes." 

Loki shifts and hugs Thor closer. "But I'll see you next week." Loki brushes aside Thor's hair and kisses the question into the back of Thor's neck. "Same time as always?" 

Thor _mhmms_ his reply against the skin on the inside of Loki's elbow where Loki's is ticklish and rubs his stubbled chin at the spot. Loki laughs and tries to get his arm away, but Thor doesn't let go of him. 

Technically, he's not saying, yes. Technically, he can deny he ever said, yes. He might be mighty, but when it comes to Loki, he has no willpower whatsoever. 

He relaxes against Loki's chest and leans his head on Loki's shoulder to enjoy his lack of willpower a little longer.

Loki squeezes his legs around Thor. "Come on, ask me."

His hair brushes Thor's shoulder, and Thor catches strands of it and curls them around his finger. They twine around eagerly as if they didn't want to part with Thor. 

"Ask you what?" 

"What you've been dying to ask all evening." Loki's voice is laced with amusement. He digs his chin into Thor's shoulder. 

Thor tenses and clears his throat. "I don't know what you mean."

Loki sighs. "You're so silly sometimes." He drops a trail of kisses along Thor's jaw. "No, Steve is not bigger than you. Not even close." The kiss at the corner of Thor's mouth turns into a bite, and Thor hisses, but Loki soothes the sting with his tongue and follows it with another kiss.

Thor's belly is filled with feathers, and as he turns his head up, leaning into the kiss, he can't stop a grin from taking over his face.

"Next time," he says when they break apart a long moment later, "let's try Tony's whiskey." 

Loki's eyes twinkle in reply.


End file.
